


Rough Crossing

by iskaen



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Seasickness, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:04:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskaen/pseuds/iskaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're on a lake, in bad weather. Scout doesn't cope well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Crossing

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired, if you can call it that, by the following:
> 
> http://yang.deviantart.com/art/tf2-in-transit-214916009  
> http://yang.deviantart.com/art/tf-more-puke-art-yay-244984066

Why, Scout wondered for the hundredth time, did the team have to travel by _boat?_

On a calm day, the crossing might have been fine; pleasant, even. But not today. Capricious, gusting winds battered the ferry and the waves alike, so that the vessel pitched and rolled unpredictably. Rain drummed against the portholes in sudden bursts. There was nothing for the passengers to do but grit their teeth and wait it out.

They were scarcely an hour into what was supposed to be a two-hour trip, but was promising to take much longer as the pilot battled the weather. Scout's stomach had been churning slowly for most of that time, but so far he was keeping it together. Perched on a pile of luggage, he glanced around at his teammates every few minutes for lack of anything better to do. Pyro lay back as if asleep, but mumbled and shifted uneasily every so often. Demoman was happily drunk and singing tunelessly to himself. Sniper, who appeared to be trying to sleep while standing up against the bulkhead, looked about like Scout felt. Only Heavy seemed unaffected. The big man hummed softly while massaging Medic's shoulders. Medic, on the other hand, looked completely miserable. He was deathly pale and had one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. His breathing was uneven and his eyes were squeezed shut. Scout edged as far away from the doc as he could get in the cramped space, as if his distress were contagious.

A particularly vicious gust shook the ferry, and its occupants swayed as the vessel rocked on two axes at once. There was a chorus of groans. Medic stiffened. "H-hand me ze pail, _bitte,_ I..." He pressed a gloved hand to his mouth, unable to continue. Demoman blearily grabbed the sole bucket and swung it in Medic's general direction. Scout watched in horrified fascination as the doc wrapped himself around the bucket and spewed violently into it. His own stomach turned over in sympathy as Medic continued to vomit.

It was the smell that did him in. As soon as the pungent reek hit him, his mouth flooded with saliva. He took a careful breath. "Hey," he ventured shakily, "pass it here when ya' done. I -" he swallowed hard - "I'm gonna puke." Unfortunately, Medic showed no signs of giving up the bucket. Scout curled up and wrapped his arms around his middle, fighting to keep his breakfast down.

Heavy noticed. Pausing in his rubbing of Medic's shoulders, he picked Scout up by the scruff of the neck and half-shoved, half-carried him across the room. "Outside! Now!" In one smooth motion he opened the hatch to the outside deck with one hand and thrust Scout through it with the other. The sudden motion was too much for Scout's churning stomach. Clutching reflexively at Heavy for balance, he doubled over and threw up what felt like his entire last meal in one awful heave, spattering Heavy's boots in the process. Growling in disgust, the big man pushed Scout to the rail and more or less draped him over it before turning to go back inside - only to be shoved out of the doorway by Sniper, who was also staggering toward the rail. Heavy let him pass, muttering something under his breath, before heading back inside and closing the hatch behind him.

If he'd hoped to feel better after throwing up, Scout was being rapidly disillusioned. His stomach was still roiling, and staring down into the churning black water wasn't helping any. His skull felt like lead, and his legs weren't cooperating. He clung, white-knuckled, to the rail as he heaved up wave after wave of awful-tasting slurry. He was dimly aware of Sniper coughing over the side somewhere nearby, but he was too wrapped up in his own misery to care. He hadn't thought it was _possible_ to be this sick. He half-expected to see his actual guts splash down in front of him.

After what felt like forever there came a lull in the vomiting, and he was free to slump down against the rail and catch his breath. He felt wrung out. His gut and ribs ached and his head was pounding. He'd also lost his hat at some point. For the first time, Scout realized that he was shivering violently - it was _cold_ out there, and the rain had soaked him to the skin. He let out an involuntary whimper, but was too exhausted to move. He closed his eyes. Almost immediately, though, a hand shook him by the shoulder. "Oi. You alright, mate?"

Scout opened one eye incredulously. “Do I _look_ alright to you?”

Sniper chuckled weakly. “You look like a drowned rat. Here.” He sounded hoarse and almost as tired as Scout felt, but he shrugged off his vest and helped Scout into it. It was soaking wet, of course; but it was better protection from the wind than Scout's own thin shirt. By then, the sick feeling was returning. Scout clambered shakily to his feet with assistance from Sniper and hung his head over the rail.

A second wave of nausea surged through him, and once again, all of Scout's rapidly fading energy was devoted to throwing up. There was nothing coming up but bile, now. Before long, even that gave out, but his stomach continued to turn itself inside out. After an agonizing series of dry heaves, he spat something foul into the water and groaned. "H-how come - gah. How come you ain't pukin'?" he asked miserably.

Sniper had wrapped an arm around Scout's shoulders to help support him; and now he gave his stricken companion a quick, sympathetic squeeze. "Keep your eyes on the horizon, lad," he said. He sounded as if he were speaking through gritted teeth. Scout did his best to follow the advice. It did seem to help - at least, the spasms lessened to every other minute or so.

Time passed at a crawl. The rain stopped, but the gusting wind still chilled them and battered their ears. The monotony was broken only by Scout's occasional retching and Sniper muttering "Steady," under his breath like a mantra as he stared fixedly out at the distant shore. Scout's thoughts were focused only on making it back to land, so he nearly jumped out of his skin when the enemy Spy decloaked at his elbow. "JEEZ!" he yelped, his voice cracking embarrassingly. _"Fuck,_ man, what are you - how are you even here?!"

Before answering, Spy lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. "A Spy has his ways," he said smugly. "I was merely going to observe your little team during the journey, but then I saw you two and stopped by to express my sympathies." He smirked at Scout. "Poor little bunny. It is lucky you have a nursemaid to take care of you, _non?"_

Scout instantly jumped away from Sniper as if burned. "I'm not - he's not - !" Spy's mocking grin only widened as Scout took an ineffectual swing at him. Spy stepped lightly out of the way, and the punch missed by a mile. Scout stumbled back into the railing, furious but worn out.

Spy shook his head in mock disappointment. "Look at you; you can barely even defend yourself. I wonder..." His knife appeared to materialize in his hand. He toyed idly with it as a predatory grin spread across his face. "The others are occupied and not paying attention to you. It would be tragic if you fell overboard..."

Sniper immediately reached for his kukri, but Spy was faster. In a flash his arm was firmly around the taller man, and his knife was at Sniper's throat.

Sniper froze. "You know the rules. No fightin' between missions. 'Specially not while we're travelin'."

Spy practically _purred._ "Rules are meant to be -"

Scout interrupted him by grabbing his shoulder. Before the startled Spy could react, Scout pitched forward and puked spectacularly across the other man's suit. Spy yelped in surprise. "That - that is _disgusting,_ you - _merde!"_ He vanished as abruptly as he'd arrived, though they could hear his footsteps hurrying away.

Sniper exhaled slowly. Rubbing his throat, he raised an eyebrow and looked at Scout. "Nice shot."

Scout coughed and grinned wanly. "Damn right."

***

Miss Pauling waited at the dock with her clipboard as the ferry maneuvered in and the ropes were secured. She scanned the mercenaries as they came down the pier, nodding to herself as she mentally toted up men, baggage, and equipment. As they approached, she took in their pale faces and the stains on Scout, Heavy, and Medic's uniforms. She raised an eyebrow. "Rough crossing?"

Medic glared daggers. Scout looked like he wanted to melt into the ground. It was Heavy who spoke, with a long-suffering sigh. "Next time," he said, "we fly."


End file.
